Our Story, Our Blood
by justplainrii
Summary: Every clan has a story, some more fantastic than others.  A collection of oneshots, myths speculating the beginnings of some of Naruto's most famous clans and creatures, from the first Uchiha to the gods and kings that created the Yamanaka and Inuzuka.


A long, long time ago, when the world was still very young, and before the countries and cities that we know now were established, there were two brothers and two sisters. They were appointed by the great gods of the sun and moon and weather to keep track of all the seasons; their names were Summer, Autumn, Winter, and Spring. Of the four siblings, Winter was the most feared, for her season was one of death and stillness, where animals and plants alike slept in the ground and in warm dens, and the harsh wind fed on the breath and life of any left alone and at her mercy. Few gods respected her, avoiding her if possible; only her brother Autumn treated her with some sort of kindness, for his season blended into hers with the chilling of the weather and the falling of the leaves. Other than he, very few bothered to even share but a few words with her, frightened that the goddess with the cream-white skin would freeze them with a mere touch, like the fierce storms of her season.

Winter, then, became a melancholy thing, one that was content to simply watch as things happened around her. She didn't participate in the endless affairs of passion of the other gods, or the arguments between themselves that ended as quickly as they began. She simply watched, with her glassy black eyes, presiding over her season with silence and grace.

However, during one particular season, her attention was captured by a young human boy whose mother had recently passed away, leaving him to tend their house alone. He was a sickly little thing, barely able to help with the harvest as it was, and the grief for his mother slowly ate away at him, causing him to grow gaunt and pale. His mother had died at the beginning of Winter's season, and with each day within her domain, the boy grew sicker, until he could no longer leave his home. The village women took pity on him, wrapping him in a warm blanket and feeding him warm soup and rice, to try and coax him back to health. It worked for a short while, but the boy's life seemed to be slipping away with each passing breath, and it near tore Winter's heart in two. She had found herself falling in love with him, although not for his appearance, like her fickle sister Spring might have done with any other man; the poor thing was so plain that he would have had a hard time finding a wife, even if he were well. No, it was because, in spite of all his grief and sickness, the boy still managed to smile and find something to enjoy with every day he had been given. And now, his precious little life being stolen in little bits and pieces, breath by breath, Winter began to feel genuine concern and sadness for the boy, and wished to do something to help him. So, one day, she took the guise of a human woman and arrived at his house, asking if she might nurse him back to health. The old women, who were much too busy with their husbands and children to begin with, were more than willing to let this young thing tend to the doomed young man, and let her care for him personally. Each day, she stepped down from her house in the heavens and brought him warm food and care, caressing his forehead with her cool hand, and making sure he was comfortable. And each day she would leave at nightfall to return to her home, only to return with the sunrise the next day.

Her efforts were in vain, though, as the boy's life continued to slip through her fingers like water, and she began to grow desperate. Seeing that the poor thing was near death, she pleaded with her brothers and sister to help her, and allow him to be saved, but her cries fell on deaf ears. Summer declined, as he had no business with dying things, and Spring, who could have helped the most in this matter, had simply laughed at Winter and not said anything else. Autumn, the gentlest of the three towards Winter, a god of both life and death, had laid his hand on her shoulder and urged her to simply let the boy be; he was mortal, and his death was inevitable whether or not she nursed him back to health, he said. Winter had sadly nodded, hearing her brother's words and agreeing with him, but having one small piece of her heart dearly wish for it not to be true.

Winter came late to the boy shortly after, long after the sun had set. For the first and final time, she wrapped her snow-white arms around him and covered his face with her small, cold kisses. The goddess and the boy shared their love that night, and people say it was then that the Northern Lights were born, sending their ribbons of green and red and violet light across the sky in her bittersweet happiness.

Winter did not return to the boy's house the next day, and when she was absent the day after, the village women became curious and came to investigate, only to find him curled up in his house, alone. He was dead, ice-cold and with snow dusting his hair that had escaped through a window that had somehow gotten open.

Yet, though his limbs were frozen stiff, a peaceful smile remained on his face, showing that he had passed without pain.

Winter returned to her home and spoke not a word to even Autumn about what had happened, allowing her season to pass into Spring's in a much gentler way than usual.

However, something miraculous happened as Spring's season progressed into Summer's, and it became apparent with Winter's growing belly that even the coldest, most unforgiving of seasons is capable of harboring life. So, with the beginning of her own season, Winter gave birth to a half-human daughter whom she named Frost, with the cold black eyes of her mother, but the rosy skin of her father. The birth of Winter's daughter was received with little pomp and ceremony, as the child was indeed a creature of her season, inheriting her mother's control over the life-taking ice and frigid waters. Even Autumn found himself a little disapproving, but Winter loved her daughter more than possibly anything else in the whole world, and it showed, for people say the winters were never so beautiful and mild after the birth of Frost.  
There was one person, however, with a deep and powerful hatred for the girl, and that was Spring. Though she should have been happy to see her sister so joyous, something within Spring rejected everything about her child and the circumstances which had brought it into the world. She became convinced that the little thing was an abomination, unworthy of even living with her mother, and was rather vocal about it too. This time, though, it was Spring's protests that were left unheard, as Winter simply ignored Spring's comments, and went on lavishing affection on her young daughter.  
Time passed, and with it Spring's irrational anger grew. Frost grew as well, and she learned to walk and speak as babies do, and each small achievement was a triumph for Winter, but an absolute insult to Spring. Finally, she couldn't take it any longer, and went to speak with her sister one day, with the intent to shatter her happiness. Spring raved that Winter's love with the sickly boy had been superficial, and that he had not loved her back. She said that his child was a monster, unfit to live among neither gods nor men. And, the cruelest thing of all, she said that her lover might have lived if Winter had not interfered and tried to care for him, saying his health would have returned eventually with the coming of Spring's season.

With Spring's harsh words, Winter fell into a deep despair, and retreated deep within her house, speaking to nobody, not even her daughter. Spring had returned to her own house, smug and satisfied, and went about her business as usual.  
However, as time passed, and Autumn began to expect his season to end, it didn't. For the very first time, there was no winter on the land.

The cold was mild and manageable, and the animals became confused, for there was nothing to tell them that it was time to fatten up and sleep until the snows melted and they could awaken and look for mates. Autumn continued straight on into spring, but it was an unusual spring. Confused and disoriented, the animals didn't have a mating season; hunting became scarce. Bees refused to pollinate the flowers, which had opened as usual, but there were not as many; trees lost their blossoms and put on their green leaves, but left no fruit on their branches. The ground, which was never frozen by Winter's touch, became crumbly and unsuitable for the coming crop season. And still, it was not yet Summer's time. When he had arrived, it became unbearably hot, as there was nothing to cool off the earth from his previous season, and the ground cracked, rivers shrinking, and people began to starve as Autumn arrived and tried his best to cool the earth and air. Winter's absence, at first unnoticed, became an issue of utmost importance; for the first time, it was realized that the cold, unwanted goddess was just as important as her brothers and sister. The heavens nearly in chaos, even the goddesses of the sun and moon asked for her to return once her time became imminent, but she refused to speak to anyone. The only person that had any idea of how to heal her despair was Frost, who thought that perhaps, if she went to the realm of souls and fetched her father, the only man to truly love Winter, he might be able to relieve this situation.

Alone, she walked to the spindly black gates of Death and gently touched them, asking for an audience with the keeper of souls. Death, the white beauty that guides all beings into the sunless lands, appeared before Frost, knowing her intentions. Death stated that if Frost wished to bring her father back to speak with Winter, she must pay a dear price: her godhood and her family. Without it, she would be a simple, powerless human, and would never be able to see her mother or father again, but the world would be brought back into its natural balance. Frost agreed without hesitation, and Death gently stripped her of her heiritage and placed her on a small rise of earth, then went to work on escorting her father's spirit to the land of the gods, telling him of the troubles that had come.

Even upon entering their land, however, Winter's father was not met with any sort of greeting from the goddess, although he was allowed in her home after Death helpfully showed him where it was. He wandered the halls by himself, until he came to the largest courtyard of the place, where Winter had secluded herself, the walls frozen over with ice. He said nothing as he arrived, but stood in front of her, silently, waiting for her to speak. It seemed that hours had passed, before finally, Winter said something.

The first thing she asked was if the boy had truly loved her.

The boy said that he did, that Winter was the first woman he ever loved.

Winter then asked if she was angry at him for letting him die.

And the boy said the he was not, because she had been so kind to him.

Winter was silent for a good long while again, before she went and embraced the boy, and said she was happy, because she feared he would be angry at her, and that he did not love her. But the boy kissed her, over and over, saying that he did and he wasn't.

Once more, winter had returned to the land, and all was well.

Arrangements were made for a marriage between Winter and her lover, but she was sorrowful for the sacrifice her daughter had made. Frost had managed to find herself a home on earth, and was doing relatively well, but both Winter and her lover, and all their family wished to reward her for her deeds. They asked that she be brought back to the realm of the gods, but Death refused, saying that her actions were final and irreversible. While they were free to watch their daughter grow up and live and die amongst the humans, they were prevented from ever speaking with her or letting her see them ever again.

--

_"So does that mean Frost never got to see her mommy and daddy again?"  
"No, dear, she never did."  
"That's so sad! Mommy, I wanted a happy ending. All stories should have happy endings..."_

_"I'm sorry, my dear, but sometimes... stories don't have happy endings. Life doesn't have happy endings sometimes, too."  
"Oh..."  
"Don't let it bother you. Frost got to be with her mommy and daddy again in the afterlife."  
"She did?"  
"She really did."  
"It's still sad..."_

_The mother kissed her son on the forehead and rumpled his long black hair. "You're sweet," she said. "Don't worry about it, it's just a story. Time for bed!"_

_"Already?" he protested.  
"Yes, lay down your head," she replied, and he obliged; taking the woven straw blanket, she arranged it over his shoulders and kissed his head again.  
"G'night, mommy," he said.  
"Goodnight, dear," she replied, and stood up. She was silent for a while, before stepping outside and into the snow. The moon was nowhere to be found, as clouds covered the sky and snow fell from them, covering the ground. It was always winter here. _

_Unexpectedly, she found herself crying. She didn't tell Haku the end of the story -- how the mirror goddess had heard Winter and her husband pleading to see their daughter again, wishing for her good deed to be repaid, and given Frost the gift of reflection. The gift that ran in her very veins. _

_It was her own story, the one of her ancestors, the reason for this gift. Her clan had called it Hyoton, the Release of Ice, but more poetically, Tensui. The Heavenly Water. She thought bitterly for a moment about the slaughter of her clan when she was a little girl, her parents and family killed for their heavenly gift. Heavenly indeed._

_The story of Winter and her daughter Frost was an epic poem that had been told by her clan for hundreds of years, turned now into a mere bedtime story for her own son._

_She didn't know why she told it to him; maybe it was because some small piece of her heart desperately wanted this piece of their legacy to be kept alive, and have him believe in it. She doubted it would ever be true, however._

_She saw her husband coming up the hill; he had been out drinking with his friends that night, and was tipsy enough to be unusually happy, but not drunk enough to be violent. He was the reason why she could never tell the end of the story. She wiped away her tears as he came closer._

_As he happily wrapped his arms around her, and as she laughed with his friends recounting the events of the evening, she found her mind was drifting towards that of the winter goddess, of all things._

_Her dearest wish was that her own son, her dear Haku, would not have to suffer the fate of Frost, his ancestor._


End file.
